Carolina Alvarez

Modern World History

Grade 10
Period 4
12/10/09

The Soul of an Empty Man (L’âme d’un Homme Vide)

Bang! Bang! And Franz Ferdinand was no longer breathing. I switched off
the radio and slowly turned to face my family. My family consisted of my sisters,
Olympe, Gertrude, and Clare, and my Maman, Gabrielle. So I was the man of the house,
taking care of the women, a responsibility passed on to me after my father’s death. Fear
crossed their eyes, and we all knew that it would be only a matter of time before that
letter darkened our doorstep, perhaps even more. It was the year of 1914, and a heavy
tension lingered in the air, choking others with its plague of terror. “Archduke Franz
Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary, and his wife Sophie, were murdered today while paying a
visit to Sarajevo, Bosnia. The culprit was immediately identified as 19-year-old Gavril
Princip, a member of the Black Hand, a secret society whose aim is to rid Bosnia of
Austrian authority…”- I could bear to listen no further. We had all been following the
news for the whole entire day and were as tense, stiff, and cold as the very dead in their
graves. My Maman Gabrielle and I shared a knowing look. Ever since my father’s death
in 1907, we had both taken to listening to anything that could possibly indicate the
coming of another war.

“You do realize what this means, don’t you, Maman?” I asked. With her eyes
glued to the floor, she answered, “Yes, of course, Jean-Pierre. Mon Dieu, I pray that,
because I know that you will soon be leaving us, that no harm will take my son away
from me forever, just like it did my husband. Your father was a brave man, and it is still
hard to accept.” She still did not look up, but I didn’t need to see the tears fall to know
that she was crying. My sisters, still in silence after the news, quickly caught on to that
profound speech and joined her in her grief. Good Lord in Heaven, I was not dead yet,
but my father was. I had given up my self-pity years ago, promising myself that I would
accept anything that fate put in my way, and that I would never let anything break me
again.

Over the next few days, I was treading on eggshells, or so the expression goes. I
was not afraid for myself, but for my mother…my sisters. Images corrupted my mind,
torturing me with the possibility of my family being killed from this war, this World War.
Then one day…THUD THUD THUD, and my sanity, or whatever remained of it, was
gone. I found myself looking straight into the impassive, hardened face of a French
soldier, bearing that evil slip of paper. I quickly slit it open, knowing goddamn well that I
was drafted; my soul signed over to the devil to do anything to protect my family, honor
my father’s name, and serve my country. FRANCE. When departure was but a few
seconds away, I longed to stay strong for my Maman, even as she cried. To stay strong
for Clare, Gertie, and Olympe, my beautiful, smart sisters, even as they watched their
older brother walk away into the unknown. For them, I would come back. Alive.
 But that was years ago. My mother, my dearest Maman, is dead, and I haven’t
heard from my sisters since. There are rumors that, Good Lord in Heaven forbid, they
were raped and beaten at the hands of a German officer. Whoever you are, you little son
of a bitch, unless I find you and kill you myself, I hope you die and go straight to the fiery
pits of hell, where you belong. And it had better be slow and painful, just as it was for
those precious girls...oh yes, you will reap what you sow. Clearly, these are the hands of
a madman, a lieutenant of the French army, mind you. But I promise, you WILL die…

But where was I? Oh yes, it was then the year of 1918, and no one, including
myself, could get it past our skulls that it was over, that the World War was over at last. I
was finally free. But I wasn’t free. My last promise remained unfulfilled. My family was
gone, and I was alone in the world. All my friends that I had made during my time in the
war were dead….and so was my soul.